A Hopeless Place
by Azure Starlight
Summary: Oneshot. Of the many contradictions that exist in the world, the contrast between love and hate is perhaps the starkest. Her love and his hatred. Yet some would argue that worst of all is indifference; a lack of emotion. For her, his hatred is enough.


**A/N: ****This ****is ****a ****oneshot ****inspired ****by ****the ****wonderful ****song ****by ****Rihanna ****featuring ****Calvin ****Harris**** '****We ****Found ****Love****'****. ****The ****introduction ****to ****this ****is ****also ****from ****the ****song, ****and ****is ****narrated ****by ****Agyness ****Deyn. ****If ****you ****search ****for ****the ****official ****video ****of ****the ****song, ****the ****introduction ****is ****included. ****This ****is ****my ****first ****time ****writing ****something ****so ****dark, ****so ****I ****appreciate ****your ****reviews.**

**A ****Hopeless ****Place**

**By ****Azure ****Starlight**

_"It's __like __you're __screaming __but __no__one __can __hear. __You __almost __feel __ashamed __that __someone __could __be __that __important, __that __without __them, __you __feel __like __nothing. __No__one __will __ever __understand __how __much __it __hurts. __You __feel __hopeless, __like __nothing __can __save __you. __And __when __it's __over __and __it's __gone, __you __almost __wish __that __you __could __have __all __that __bad __stuff __back __so __you __can __have __the __good."_

An unnatural chill crept over the petite redhead, curling its icy fingers around her body. She trembled, but not for the cold. She knew it was a mistake to come back; always. Look forward, don't dwell, move on. But she was chained to this, the existence that she had, and even though she had the key to unshackle herself, she couldn't bring herself to do it.

She breathed deeply, and exhaled slowly, evenly, watching as her breath formed curly wisps on the wintry air. Beautiful. Just like them. Just like the nights they'd had, fuelled by adrenaline and heady euphoria.

She moaned softly as memories flooded into her mind; memories of the way he'd held her, taken her relentlessly until she screamed in ecstasy, gripped her hair so tightly in the throes of passion that she'd whimpered, and knew she was lost to him.

He was everything she shouldn't have; he'd almost destroyed her as a naïve first year, stood for everything she despised and showed little remorse for his actions. He was destroying her again, and she was letting him; she hated him and longed for him in the same breath, and she tried to tell herself that she was gaining more from this than he was. She was in control, really. She could say no, go whenever she liked, call the shots.

Only, she couldn't. She was here now.

She placed a hand on the wooden door, allowing her fingers to caress the oak lovingly, knowing what the door signified and what her reward would be for entering it. Synaesthesia suddenly seized her senses and for a fleeting second she could smell the musky scent of him, could taste the metallic tang of blood in her mouth when he bit her lip as he kissed her.

The door banged shut behind her; she didn't jump. She was used to it. The guard glanced up from behind the desk, and upon seeing her, nodded in acknowledgement. He was used to it. She walked past him, along the corridor that veered to the right, minding the undulation just before the corner, knowing every single little turn and slope as well as a childhood best friend.

With every step she took her stomach agitated; a mixture of apprehension and arousal, and her heart crashed against her chest like jeans in a tumble dryer. The cold air of Azkaban's corridors flooded her lungs and she gasped, trying to steady her breathing. Placing a hand on the damp, clammy walls, she exhaled slowly, steadily. She needed to be in control. With the long ease of practice, she hauled herself together with steely composure, and made the five strides to his door.

She knocked out of politeness, but entered without pause; her stomach writhed pleasantly as her gaze met him. He stood, his shadow crossing hers.

"Ginevra."

She breathed softly, feeling her lifeblood thundering through her veins. She was alive once more.

"Lucius," she whispered, moving to him and touching his sculpted jaw, coarse with stubble. He caught hold of her hand, his grip firm, but not painful.

"You come for more?" he whispered, his voice a mere hiss on the still air.

She swallowed hard; she hated her transparency and longed for impassiveness. "You want this as much as I do."

"Want is a powerful word, Ginevra," he breathed, as his free hand began to unbutton his shirt; Ginny could see his fingers working with clever dexterity and trembled at the thought of them working on her similarly. "I prefer 'need'. I do not desire you; I need you to release me and make my existence that little bit more bearable."

"Bastard," she spat, and Lucius caught hold of her other wrist, this time more roughly so that his nails dug in to her flesh. "I'll scream."

Lucius laughed softly. "That you will. And nobody will hear…"

"Get off me," she snarled, wrestling against his grip, but he laughed all the more.

"I love it when you put up a fight," he whispered. "Go on...struggle..."

"Lucius, let me go," she gasped, and without warning, he released his grip on her wrists, so that she stumbled backwards.

"Go, then," he said, impassively. "I'm sure I can find another woman to...relieve me..."

"I doubt that," spat Ginny, the fire rising inside her like a python, ready to strike. "Where's your wife? Left you at the drop of a hat and ran away with your precious son."

Lucius' face lost the little colour it already had and she saw his fists clench, his knuckles whitening as his roughened skin tightened over them. She felt a spark of satisfaction at the realisation that she was eliciting a response from him. "Shut up."

"And who else comes to visit you?" she continued relentlessly, for she could sense that she had him on the ropes now; she could continue to land subtle punches like this to weaken him further. "Who was the last woman who saw you, Lucius? Who was the last woman who could stand for you to touch her-"

In a split second he was on his feet, his fingers curling around her slender neck, slamming her into the dank stone wall, and the mad gleam in his silvery irises sent a thrill through her.

"If I recall rightly, it was you," he breathed, and she closed her eyes at the sensation of his voice so close to her ear. "You begged me to take you, cried out for more..."

"And you wanted it too," she hissed. "How the mighty fall, Lucius...shagging a Weasley. You must be so proud."

Lucius smirked. "It could be worse; I could have plumbed the depths of shagging Granger. I don't know which is worse; a Mudblood or a filthy little blood traitor."

"Fuck you, Lucius," she spat, struggling against his grip.

"Feel free," he whispered, and she could feel his body up against hers, his arousal pressing insistently into her thigh. She swallowed hard, longing for her body not to betray her to Lucius, but the flush in her cheeks and the gleam in her eyes gave her away, and he laughed. "You want me."

"Unless you're smuggling contraband, I'd suggest it's reciprocated," she snapped, and writhed purposely against him. He closed his eyes for the merest of seconds before opening them again. Saying nothing, he moved his hand between his legs and began to undo his trousers, allowing them to fall around his ankles. She could see the outline of him through his underwear, and curled her fingers around his length, and was rewarded with a hiss of pleasure.

"On your knees, witch," he growled, tangling his fingers in her hair and pushing her between his legs. She laughed inwardly; like Lucius thought this was punishment. She could take him in her mouth all day, but she wouldn't tell him that.

She eased him out from the restraint of his underwear, and despite himself, he moaned softly, his hand still at the nape of her neck. She pressed her lips to him and felt him twitch involuntarily at the contact; she knew he wanted this. Wanted her.

She parted her moist lips and took him in the warm depths of her mouth; he groaned helplessly and thrust deep into her, gripping her hair roughly. She moaned softly as his length hit the back of her throat, and could feel him pulsating between her lips.

"Enough," he gasped, pulling her away from him and upwards to meet his gaze.

"Scared you won't last?" she said, casually.

Lucius licked his lips. "Since when has that ever been a problem? If I recall rightly, you begged me to stop after I fucked you senseless last time..."

"I can take you all night if I want," she murmured, bringing her fingers up to touch his face. He shivered and closed his eyes. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" she asked, innocently. "Touch you, Lucius? Remind you that you are a real man with feelings that you can't just turn on and off like a shit song on the wireless?"

"Kiss me," he whispered, breathlessly, and claimed her lips in a fierce, searing kiss filled with the frustration of incarceration, his tongue sliding roughly into her mouth, tasting himself on her. He groaned and gripped her backside, grinding himself against her, and she moaned deeply, welcoming the familiarity of her desire for him. She tangled her fingers in his blond tresses, surprisingly soft considering the length of time he had languished in Azkaban.

She felt his hand slip beneath her skirt and tensed in anticipation; Lucius knew every undulation and contour of her flesh and knew how to make her cry out, but knew how adept he was at teasing her until she was sobbing for sweet release. She cried out as she felt his fingers plunge into her tight, slippery depths and threw her head back, deep moans of delight emanating from her throat.

"Dirty blood traitor bitch," he murmured into her ear, and the sensation of his husky tones sent tiny impulses of ecstasy traverse her spine. Another finger joined the two and she howled in pleasure as he forced himself deeper into her, his little finger tracing patterns on the outside. He was too good, and she could never hold on...her muscles contracted around his fingers and she was so deliriously close...her breaths came in ragged gasps and she was so painfully close to release...

With a quick movement he withdrew his fingers, and she moaned in disappointment, but the disappointment was soon replaced by ecstasy as she felt his hard length impale her, eliciting a desperate scream from her. She'd never understood the fine line between pain and pleasure and the tenuous relationship they shared, until Lucius had taken her, and then she truly appreciated that one had to embrace the pain to find the pleasure. How very Slytherin, she thought to herself, as he thrust deeply and roughly into her, pinning her against the wall, growling with every thrust into her.

"Tell me you want me," he hissed, into her ear, curling his fingers into the cheek of her backside. "Beg me..." He paused momentarily in his motion and she cried out in anguish.

"Please, Lucius," she moaned, biting her lip and writhing against him, but he held her rock steady.

"Tell me you want me," he growled, "hard and relentless..."

"Lucius, I want you," she cried, "so hard...please...make me scream..."

He bit his lip as he stared at her; she could see he was torn between his own release and satisfying his own male pride. Closing his eyes, he curled his lip in a snarl and drove hard into her, and she screamed again, feeling the ache rising inside her.

"Don't stop..." she groaned, writhing against him, and pulled him to her, kissing him fiercely as his movements became more fevered, more erratic, and she knew he was losing control, that the steely mask would slip a fraction as he surrendered to his ecstasy, and just for that split second, she would be Ginny, and he would be Lucius, and they would be unified in their euphoria.

She felt him swelling inside her and she pulled away from him, searching his face for some kind of emotion.

"Look at me, damn it, Lucius!" she cried, and his eyes locked on to hers; cold, glinting, emotionless. He held her hips in a painful grasp as he throbbed inside her, and with one final thrust he was over the edge with a guttural roar, the warm rush of him filling her, and his fingers ventured south, massaging her soaking flesh until she whimpered and felt the ache subside into sweet, blissful ecstasy that surged through her body like molten lava cascading down a mountain.

He pulled out of her and turned away, dressing himself again. So cold, clinical, detached. She pushed her skirt down over her thighs and smoothed her hair. She looked at Lucius; his blond tresses were dishevelled and tangled. She longed to tease her fingers through his hair, to breathe in the smell of him, and knew, that if she tried, she would get nothing from him.

"I have to go," she said, evenly. Better if she did it on her terms; this way, she was still in control. He couldn't kick her out if she left before he did so.

Lucius made no comment; merely nodded with his back to her as he buttoned his cuffs.

"I may not be able to visit next week," she said, casually. "Ministry business."

"I'm sure I can find something...or someone...to entertain me," said Lucius, and in the dim light, Ginny could see the edges of a smirk curling his lips. His comment was a knife to her heart; she was dispensable. Unimportant. She couldn't let him see that he'd hurt her.

"I'm sure you will," she said, coolly. On impulse, she walked over to him, and placed her hands on his hips, feeling a nip of satisfaction as he jumped slightly, and whispered softly into his ear. "But she won't be as filthy as me, or as tight, or as willing to satisfy your every desire. She won't be a dirty little blood traitor, and that's why you will keep looking forward to visiting time."

She turned to leave the room, fighting a lump of misery rising in her throat with the harsh realisation that she would never tame Lucius; he would never view her with respect, would never worship the ground she walked on, nor caress her body with aching tenderness.

And yet, she knew, that next week, she would veer to the right, avoid the undulation in the floor by the corner and make the five strides, and it would be as though an invisible force was dragging her there, and she was powerless to stop it, in the hope that one day, Lucius' mask of impassiveness would slip and they would truly find love in a hopeless place.


End file.
